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Chapter One
Kellan
Earth wasn’t what it used to be.
The thick layer of pollution in the air clung to my skin as I stepped out of the portal and into the deep, swampy forest of southern Louisiana. Moss hung to the tree trunks of the surrounding cypress trees, giving the lush vegetation an overgrown look.
The other realms took care of their home better than the people of Earth.
Humans could be the worst. I should know because I used to be one.
This was my home regardless of what the other realms had to offer. My father lived here his entire life. He loved the solitude of living in a small town, knowing his neighbors—scratch that, not having to see his neighbors.
That was decades before.
Before my life changed, and I was doomed to live forever.
It was a long story and after dragging a grown man to prison in the southern realm, I didn’t feel like reliving it at the moment.
My combat boots squished into the soggy ground, leaves and debris clinging onto the soles as I marched toward my cabin. My clothes were ripped in places from the fight he gave me. He'd been a tough one but the pay was worth the drama.
Out of all of the places I’d lived this was my favorite. My father and I had one thing in common; the need to be alone. It hadn’t always been that way but after decades of solitude I realized I enjoyed it more than I did people.
I snaked my fingers into the roots of my dirty-blonde hair—extra on the dirty—and found myself yearning for a hot shower. A cold beer. I could almost taste it. I’d spent the majority of my adult life as a bounty hunter, jumping from one realm to the other while trying to track down assholes that think jumping realms would save them.
Not with me around.
George, my basset hound, greeted me at the edge of the woods, which told me one of two things, he was happy to see me, or someone had been to the house.
By the small growl, I concluded that it was the latter.
George followed behind me, the growing humid wind slid against my sweaty skin, bringing a scent along with it. Cologne. Expensive cologne.
The longer I was alive, the stronger my scenes grew.
Being immortal came with many perks, but none of them outweighed the fact that I would have to live forever. It was a tiny thought in the back of my mind at any given moment.
I would never die. I would always be alive. I would always look thirty-five. It'd been surreal at first. Despite the circumstances of why I drank the elixir, it sounded exciting. Until it wasn't.
The wind chimes on my porch rang from a soft, faerie-like sound to a deeper baritone when they brushed against the small pillar holding my worn tin roof.
A man stood on my porch in a pair of dark slacks and a button-down shirt. He looked nervous but more so out of place against the old wooden furniture my father made by hand.
“Can I help you?” I asked from the yard.
The gentleman noticed me for the first time as I spoke and hurried down the steps. He was in his fifties easily, his hands shoved down into his pockets and a smile that screamed elegance.
“Kellan Stone?” he asked.
His accent was straight from the bayou. Moreso from a plantation than a coon-ass but southern nonetheless.
“That’s me. Why are you at my house?”
He stopped when he realized I wasn’t happy to see him. Sue me for not liking uninvited visitors. “My name is Luther. I was sent here by Richard Bogart.”
I blinked, waiting on something to make sense.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Taking out a small cloth, he wiped a bead of sweat from his skin. “He heard that you are a bounty hunter and requests your help.”
